


Coalesce

by Flamoria



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Canon Universe, Companions, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, Idiots in Love, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Smut, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:19:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22258588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flamoria/pseuds/Flamoria
Summary: "Careful, Witcher. With words like that, one might think you are in love with me."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 38
Kudos: 1095





	Coalesce

**Author's Note:**

> *coughs* sliding in here to add a fic to this fandom because I couldn't resist.

As he gazed out the window, legs pulled underneath him, Jaskier’s mind drifted to the stories of old. The ones his mother used to read to him late at night, about heroes who risked their lives for the greater good. He’d found himself fascinated with those tales, constantly begging his mother for new ones, never growing tired of them.

He supposed that was what had initially attracted him to Geralt. He’d dreamed his whole life of accompanying one of these heroes on journeys, writing and singing songs about all their wild adventures, crooning ballads of bravery and sacrifice that would survive for years to come.

Jaskier had learned, however, that Geralt was no hero. He didn’t do what he did out of some need for honor and glory. Didn’t care about sacrificing his life for the greater good. In Geralt’s mind, there existed no good and evil. He was paid to kill monsters so, he killed monsters. Of course, the tales were still grand and their company, even grander. Jaskier couldn’t complain. He had been, despite Geralt’s initial reservations, given the chance to accompany a Witcher across the world.

He’d experienced far more than he ever imagined he would at such a youthful age. Had seen creatures he’d never thought existed, witnessed both the beauty and fierceness that life created. The scenery that had been forever painted on his mind had exceeded all expectations, far beyond what he’d imagined during those nights filled with his mother’s voice.

The best part about all of this, however, had been meeting and getting to know Geralt. Jaskier hadn’t ever believed he’d been severely missing anything in his life before their first encounter. Sure, he’d yearned to travel the world, filled with insatiable wanderlust. A part of him even dreamed of becoming a renowned bard, having people in every village of every country sing his songs and speak his name. But a companion? The thought had never crossed his mind.

During the past few years of traveling together, both he and Geralt had made bed with their fair share of men, women, and those in between. It had been fun, exhilarating even. However, a portion of Jaskier always remained empty until the moment he found himself back in the company of his Witcher. It was those silent moments, the ones where Geralt sipped his beer and Jaskier sat next to him reading a book, that the bard appreciated the most.

He enjoyed far too much the nights where it was cold enough to have an excuse to cozy up to the Witcher underneath the stars. A soft smile on his face as Geralt grumbled his complaints and yet, every time, failed to move even an inch away. Jaskier knew there was a quiet love that blossomed between them. It wasn’t the sort that snuck up out of nowhere, biting you in the bum unexpectedly. No, it was the sort that took years and moments of trust to build up.

It was inevitable, what was about to happen between the two of them. As Jaskier’s gazed shifted and landed on the Witcher who was staring straight back at him from inside the tub, he didn’t even try to convince himself otherwise. He was more surprised that it hadn’t happened sooner. They’d both saved one another’s lives far too many times over the past few years because yes, although Geralt was far superior to Jaskier in nearly every way, even a Witcher needed some saving from time to time.

Those kinds of sacrifices always amounted to something, and that something was apparent in the way those golden eyes began to glow as Geralt no doubt noticed the way Jaskier’s scent had changed. He was aroused, and who could blame him? He had the most incredible looking man naked in a tub in his company, water droplets dripping down a toned chest, white hair now clean from the grime that had coated it from the Barghest the Witcher had slain only an hour prior.

Thinking about the way Geralt had moved earlier when killing the monster had a fresh wave of arousal coursing through the bard and he bit his bottom lip, turning away as Geralt’s eyes darkened, looking as though he wanted nothing more than to devour him.

“Stop looking at me like that, Witcher.”

“Like what?” Geralt’s deep voice replied, a hint of amusement laced underneath.

Jaskier got up from the windowsill and stretched, bones popping as a groan slipped out from the movement.

“Like you want to eat me…or kill me. I can’t really tell which. You get the same gleam in your eye when a steak is placed in front of you as you do when a Garkain pops up out of nowhere.”

That was a lie. He knew what Geralt wanted, and Geralt knew that Jaskier was more than aware of his desires.

“Hm.”

A simple sound, but one that had a shiver running up Jaskier’s spine. He didn’t look as he heard the water slosh around, signaling that after an hour-long soak Geralt was finally leaving the tub. Didn’t look as the sound of Geralt’s feet padding against the wooden floorboards grew closer. Still refused to face the Witcher when he felt the heat of his body pressed up against his.

“Are you going to make me beg for you, bard?” Geralt’s voice tickled the shell of his ear, making his knees so weak that Jaskier was afraid he might fall to the floor.

“Would you? I suppose it would make for a great song. Oh, mighty Witcher, how far he has fallen. Brought to his hands and knees by none other than the lowly bard.” Jaskier sang out, turning to finally come face to face with the man who had come to mean everything to him.

“Nothing about you is lowly,” Geralt murmured, the sound of devotion in his voice clear as he placed his finger on Jaskier’s chin to tilt it up.

Jaskier smiled, heart filling with warmth at the words.

“Careful, Witcher. With words like that, one might think you are in love with me.”

And then, lips were being placed firmly against his and Jaskier’s entire world shifted. All the stories he’d ever been told, the adventures he’d been on, and the things he had seen paled in comparison to the way Geralt’s lips felt against his.

He grunted as Geralt lifted him in the air, his legs automatically wrapping around that toned waist, clothing becoming damp with the water that remained on the Witcher’s body. Geralt’s tongue prodded at his lips and Jaskier immediately parted them, sighing with pleasure as he finally tasted the one person he’d been craving for years.

He tilted his head to the left just a bit to allow for better access, nose brushing against Geralt’s softly. A part of him couldn’t believe that this was happening, that someone as beautiful as the Witcher saw something special in him. He’d known that Geralt cared for him, had first realized it was a little beyond a simple companionable concern after the unfortunate incident with the Jinn. Yet, somehow, being in the Witcher’s arms, having that tongue delve deep inside to taste every inch of him, listening in awe as Geralt whispered words of praise against his throat, still seemed so unreal.

The gentleness that Geralt was treating him with didn’t last for long, soon turning into something that bordered desperation as he was tossed onto the bed and deft hands nearly ripped his clothing to pieces when removing them from his writhing body. Each time an article of clothing was removed, the Witcher would shower that area of his body with nips and kisses, the skin turning red and purple underneath his skilled mouth.

Geralt became so excited once Jaskier’s pants were removed, that when he bit at the skin of the bard’s inner right thigh it was hard enough to draw blood.

“Ouch! You know, just because I guessed that you wanted to eat me earlier didn’t mean I was giving you permission,” he grumbled out, his noise of protest quickly turning to a moan when Geralt pressed a kiss to the tip of his cock.

“And since when do I need to ask for permission?”

Jaskier wanted to quip back with a cheeky protest, however, Geralt succeeded in shutting him up completely with a simple swipe of his tongue along the bottom of his aching hard cock. It wasn’t as though the bard hadn’t ever been sucked off before but the fact that it was the Witcher doing it had him feeling as though he were a mere virgin, hands fisting in the sheets and stars shining behind his eyelids as his back arched off the mattress.

Geralt’s tongue slid all around his cock, tasting every inch, pressing against areas that Jaskier had never known to be particularly sensitive before this. He did his best to stifle his noises, not wanting the Witcher to have the upper hand but when Geralt finally took him all the way in his mouth, allowing his cock to slide in until it pressed against the back of his throat, there was no stopping the salacious moan that left his mouth.

“Holy fuck, Geralt. If I’d known you were this skilled at sucking cock, I might have tried this sooner.”

Rather than even attempt to reply, Geralt did this wicked thing where he swallowed, the walls of his throat tightening and constricting around Jaskier’s cock causing the bard to cry out in pleasure. His eyes rolled to the back of his head when Geralt repeated the motion while simultaneously pressing his thumb against his perineum.

Somehow, while Geralt had been doing all of this, he’d managed to retrieve the vial of oil that was kept by the bedside. Jaskier didn’t even bother questioning it, had seen the Witcher accomplish things no other living being would dare dream of. Plus, once that slicked finger had found its way to his hole, slipping inside while Geralt popped his mouth off his cock and moved it down to his balls, he no longer found himself caring about the how’s or the why’s. All he wanted was Geralt seated deep inside him.

“Oi, Witcher. Just fuck me already,” he groaned out as he felt a second finger slipping in, shifting his hips in irritation.

“What? So you can sing a song about how you died at the hand of a Witcher’s cock?”

Jaskier threw an arm over his face and huffed, body shaking when Geralt curled his fingers in just the right way.

“Don’t you think you are giving yourself far too much credit?” He quipped back, biting his lip when the Witcher purposefully pressed against that spot inside him extra hard.

“Hm. We’ll see.”

And then a third finger wormed its way inside, causing Jaskier’s breath to quicken as his hips moved in tandem with the thrusts of Geralt’s fingers. His entire body felt as though it were on fire, burning with a desire to finally become one with his Witcher. Too long had he spent his nights in the company of others while wishing it was Geralt instead. Too long had he foolishly denied himself someone who, now that he thought about it, would have never rejected him had he possessed the balls to ask.

Now that they were like this together, Geralt looming above him with hooded golden glowing eyes as Jaskier lay on his back, fingers continuing to move inside while he slicked himself up with oil using his free hand, Jaskier had to kick himself as he wondered just why they’d waited so long. Was it for fear that this would be the moment their relationship shifted? That, once they committed this act, there could never be anyone else for either of them?

As Geralt hiked one of Jaskier’s legs up over his shoulder and pulled his fingers out, soon replacing them with his cock, Jaskier had to laugh at himself. What an idiotic fear that had been, barring him from such pleasures for so many years. No other cock had ever felt quite this good, stretching him perfectly, prepped enough that it was only a minor sting compared to the ecstasy that crawled up his spine and burrowed into his bones.

It was only when Geralt was seated fully that he made a sound, a deep groan permeating the air as he dipped his head, arms shaking slightly. He was holding back, giving the bard time to adjust, and the knowledge that Geralt would always consider his well being and comfort above all else sent a pang through his heart.

“You can move now. Don’t hold yourself back.”

Despite the bard’s words, the first few thrusts were slow and in control, Geralt obviously savoring the way it felt to slide in and out of that tight heat. However, when he looked down into Jaskier’s eyes and saw the quiet desperation there, he finally let go of himself.

Jaskier’s hands found purchase on the Witcher’s taut biceps, fingernails digging into the flesh and head pressing back against the mattress as Geralt began to pound mercilessly into him. The friction was delicious, especially when he managed to find it in himself to move his hips in tandem with his partners, ears filling with the sound of skin slapping against skin.

He moaned when Geralt’s hands gripped his hips hard enough to leave bruises, holding onto him possessively as he moved impossibly faster. If it wasn’t for the strong grip the Witcher had on his body, Jaskier’s head would have been repeatedly smacking against the headboard.

He had no idea how long they remained entangled together, switching from several different positions only to find themselves back in the one they had started with, sweat dripping down their bodies, breaths coming out quick and shallow, moans and grunts decorating the air.

“I want to see your face when I make you come,” Geralt said roughly as he shifted his hips in just the right way, his cock slamming into Jaskier’s prostate over and over, causing a fire to begin building deep inside his gut.

Jaskier closed his eyes, feeling suddenly vulnerable beneath that gaze, lips pressing together as his hands moved to Geralt’s back, nails digging into the skin while he attempted to remain in control of himself.

Geralt buried his face in Jaskier’s neck, warm breath tickling the flesh as he picked up his pace, going as hard and rough as he possibly could.

“Come for me.”

Jaskier whined, stars exploding across his eyelids as a garbled version of Geralt’s name left his mouth, come spilling out all over his chest. Geralt kept going, hips beginning to stutter a few minutes later before he let out a groan, hips stilling once he’d found his own release.

Geralt pulled out of Jaskier and plopped down on the bed next to him, the two of them looking up at the ceiling as they tried to get their breathing under control.

“Well, it appears that for once in my life, I might have been wrong…the credit is well deserved” Jaskier managed to huff out after a few moments.

“Hm.”

Jaskier smiled, turning over and wrapping himself around his Witcher.

“I can’t wait to do this for the rest of our lives.”

And, with that, Geralt finally laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know your thoughts! I have a lot of other fics I'm working on atm. However, if people like this I might consider writing more for this fandom. (:
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thebardswitcher)


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